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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24719326">Operation Target (Target of Operation: Target)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closeted_Bookworm/pseuds/Closeted_Bookworm'>Closeted_Bookworm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Jims are chaos demons, Poor Target employees, Pranks, Secret operative Jims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:13:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>454</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24719326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closeted_Bookworm/pseuds/Closeted_Bookworm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jims will be Jims. </p>
<p>When Jims are separated, emergency measures must be taken. Luckily, they've prepared for this exact situation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jim &amp; Jim - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Operation Target (Target of Operation: Target)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay, Jim, are you clear?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely crystal ready, Jim.”</p>
<p>They both giggled creepily in unison, tucking the smoke bombs they’d nicked into their pockets with the walkie talkies and synchronizing their watches. </p>
<p>“See you later, crocodile.”</p>
<p>“In a while, alligator.”</p>
<p>They rushed towards their target, the local Target. The automatic doors nearly didn’t open fast enough to accommodate their speed, not that glass would have stopped these two. They sprinted past the confused cashiers and split up, running to opposite ends of the store. Reporter Jim crouched beside a case of frozen dinners, and Camera Jim positioned himself deep within a rack of stuffed animals. After precisely three minutes and twenty four and a half seconds, they pulled the pins on their smoke bombs and threw them into the aisles. Putrid green fog that smelled like dirty socks left in a gym locker one day too long spilled into the air and confused and upset shouts started ringing through the store. The twins clicked on their walkie talkies.</p>
<p>“That was brilliant, Jim!”</p>
<p>“An absolute bang up job, Jim!”</p>
<p>“Nose plugs, Jim?”</p>
<p>“But of course, Jim!”</p>
<p>“Nose plu-” Camera Jim’s walkie talkie dissolved into static. He smacked it in frustration, and the static stopped, the little green light on the side going dark. He held down the button. “Jim, my walkie talkie died! Jim, it’s dead, I need help!”</p>
<p>There was no response. Jim frantically repeated his message, making sure to whisper so it wasn’t intercepted, but Jim wasn’t replying. He switched tactics. </p>
<p>“Jim, I’m activating protocol 639, Emergency Tracking Beacon.”</p>
<p>He crawled out of the stuffed animals, laid down on the floor with his limbs spread out like a starfish, and started to shriek like an air raid siren. Long, high-pitched, and as loud as he could get. His lung capacity was never-ending. </p>
<p>Reporter Jim, currently prowling through the produce aisle surveying the damage, heard the distress call immediately. He shot straight up, tilted his head back, and answered in kind, careful to pitch his shrilling call so that it could not be mistaken for any nice-sounding chord in the music still playing from the store’s speakers. Using his brother as a homing signal, he slowly and deliberately walked through every aisle until he located him and catapulted him back to his feet. They each raised their hands and slapped the others’ cheek as hard as they could, thus finishing the ritual and reuniting them. The silence was deafening. </p>
<p>“Good to see you, Jim.”</p>
<p>“So we meet again, Jim.”</p>
<p>“Let’s blow this skedaddle.”</p>
<p>“We shall indeed skeedle the popsicle stand.”</p>
<p>So, just as the employees were recovering from their shock, they vanished giggling down the street, hand in hand and running in perfect sync.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The best description I've ever found of the Jims is that they "feel confident enough in their immortality to f*** s*** up," (credit to Doctor_Discord). They are a force of nature.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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